Secret Santa
by celestial-insanity
Summary: The Grey Warden's party does a secret santa at the eve of their march to the Landsmeet, celebrating the Christmas spirit with Antivian traditions!


**Author's Note: I own NOTHING! Not even my characters, sad to say. There are referances to my WIP Dragon Age story in here, so please go check it out! I don't always write in 1st person and it was very new to me. I was very happy to return to 3rd person at the end!**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

**Giving Christmas Presents**

**Redcliffe Castle (Leliana)**

Redcliffe really was beautiful in the winter, and I was beginning to wish that I had come here instead of Loathering. If the Blight hadn't been a threat, that is. If I'd never met Abigail perhaps I would have come here at least once in my life, and I was certain that if I did I would never leave.

Just look at all of that snow! It always seems to be freezing in Ferelden, but I've never seen the snows before. Orlais is to the south and it is too warm to snow, especially as close to the sea as we are. Arl Eamon doesn't believe it will snow more than five or six inches, and I can tell our leader is glad. Personally, I am, too. Can you imagine traveling in knee-deep snow all the way to Denereim? That's such a horrid thought!

Right now everybody is preparing for the Landsmeet, and Abigail has warned us on no uncertain terms that if we became ill on the march she would flay us so bad that an ogre would run. I think she's just nervous like the rest of us. So much is about to happen...

And maybe, just maybe, the end may be near.

If we can acquire support through the Landsmeet (no, wait, we _will_ according to Oghren, who is busy getting drunk in a corner on nothing but the air it seems) then perhaps, just perhaps, we may be able to unite the land against the Blight. We have the promised support of the Dalish Elves, the Dwarves, Eamon, and the Circle of Magi. But to have every man and woman in the land united against them?

I can hardly imagine it! Or perhaps I can, but I am too detailed. The Dalish Elves and the Mages bringing up the rear, committing their deadly forces to epic proportions. In front of them, the templars and commonsfolk and whoever is committed to the fight! And at the head of the army, Redcliffe's champions walking purposely behind the Grey Wardens. Banners of all races, clans, and banns would swirl in the wind as we met the army head-on and victorious. And then the arch-demon, roaring as he swerved among them to pick them off, one by one.

It will hardly be as glamorous as that, I know, but not imagining what would happen would send me over the edge. I need to find that hope in there somewhere, a chance that perhaps we'll _succeed..._

Loghain, he can't win. The stories always say how the good prevails over the bad, and yet...

And yet I feel _sorry_ for him. I would never tell Abigail that, of course, for she is full of the fire of a mad woman. I guess I would be also, if I were in her position. I would wish for his head. And I would probably kill him. For now though I think it is my job to reign them in, because Abigail isn't the only one with a grudge.

Poor Alistair, losing Duncan like that. I could tell they were close, just by the way Alistair speaks about him. To be taken from him so harshly gives one something to ponder, don't you think? How far gone must you be... to see no reason at all?

I cannot trust them both to make a rational decision when the time comes, for I am sure that the time _will_ come. Alistair will settle for nothing but Loghain's head, and Abigail is agreeable enough to torture when it comes to the subject of that man, and yet she is one of the kindest souls I have ever met.

Yes, I think it is my job to save them from themselves. I have already tried talking Sten into it, and to my surprise the old softy has agreed. Wynne and Zevran both know that the taking of unnecessary risks would be horrible to our plight, so they are aboard also. And Oghren? Oghren said, in no uncertain terms, that the bastard deserves to fry and that death would be too good for him. I didn't even bother to ask Shale, for her loyalty is to Abigail now.

I hope I am not disabling the party in any way, shape, or form. I am only trying to prepare for the worst, because I see in their eyes... I see murder in their eyes. Alistair is tense, and Abigail... well, she's _always_ tense.

Oh, how they dance in the snow...

Wynne placed a hand on my shoulder and I leaned into her touch, smiling to myself at the sight of the couple outside. "They look very happy together," Wynne said, a note of contentment in her voice.

"So relaxed," I agreed. "I'm glad such people as themselves can still find romance in a time like this. It's a good sign, I think."

"You would find a bird defecating a sign from the Maker," Sten grumbled, stroking the mabari's thick coat with uncharacteristic kindness. We had taken one of the larger guest rooms for ourselves. Socializing with other people wasn't one of our strong suits. Our entire group radiated 'invite-only' as Oghren would say. Right now we were spread out and about, doing our own thing and enjoying each other's company. The message had sunk in now: _This is real, this is serious, one of us might die soon._

Oghren belched behind us, then chuckled to himself. Morrigan groaned. "Dwarf, can't you keep that to yourself?"

"Ah, nope," Oghren said. I heard the swish of liquid within a bottle, then another, smaller burp. "Nothing like getting wasted before a march, lassie. You should try it."

"Call me lassie one more time and you'll soon miss your favorite appendage, you fat little knee-high," she snapped, but without any real conviction in her voice. She sat with her back pressed against the closed door, her eyes closed. Her lips occasionally moved of her own accord, mouthing words undoubtedly learned within her mother's grimoire. I hoped that this new knowledge would help us further in our quest. Even blood magic seemed permissible now.

Zevran had stripped down to his underclothes and was performing a series of acrobatic stunts to keep himself limber. "How do you _always_ manage to find alcohol, my dear fellow?" he asked lightly, bent in an unidentifiable tangle of limbs.

"Like I told Alistair–" Oghren lifted a mug in respect at this "–it's a sixth sense. I can sniff it out like a mabari on a scent."

Bear barked happily, and I turned back to watch the happy couple below us in the courtyards. Deserted save for them, the two spun and twirled in a traditional Ferelden noble dance as old as the ages. Even as I watched Alistair spun her out a bit too hard and lost his grip on her hand. I watched, mortified, as she hit the ground hard.

"By the Maker, he dropped her!" I exclaimed, and because I couldn't stop myself I began to laugh. "Oh, Alistair!"

Wynne was chuckling. "Young love."

I stared down, squinting, to see if she was okay. Alistair had flocked over to her, kneeling at her side, and the only part of her I could see were her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. The back of his head dipped towards hers, and I couldn't help but smile. "Young love indeed," I whispered.

"Do you know, back in Antiva," Zevran began, "that this time of year is a holiday, right?"

I wracked my brains for a moment, and then it came to me. "Oh! A year of gift-giving!"

"To celebrate the living," the elf continued in a somber voice, "and to help those soon to die to pass on. I have a feeling things are about to flare up soon. Perhaps this is a tradition worth reconstructing."

"_More_ beer?" Oghren demanded. "Elf, you've got a good head on your shoulders!"

"A year of gift-giving," Wynne corrected, ever the teacher. "I seem to remember... ah, yes, the secret gifts. This does sound very good, Zevran."

"We march in three days," the elf told her, standing up. "What better thing can we do?"

"Secret gifts?" Sten asked, earning a curious whine from the mabari war hound. He had taken a liking to Sten on their journey, and the qunari to him, and if Abigail and Alistair were together Bear would automatically seek out the older warrior. It was both amusing and touching in a way, I thought. "Explain."

"Well, in Antiva," Zevran began, "there is a tradition among my people where we give each other gifts, but secretly. We put every person's name in a hat and somebody picks out a name, but doesn't let the other people know who it is for. It is really quite fun, attempting to guess who is giving you a gift. We nearly always performed this on the first snowfall and ended a day after. The streets would crowd with people, I remember."

"We can't exactly go out and buy gifts now," Morrigan said in a droll sort of voice, though I could tell she was at least a little interested. Perhaps she was hoping to get another meaningful gift, like that golden mirror. "Are you suggesting we knit them a sweater by hand?"

"Oh no, I am a terrible knitter," Zevran assured her. "That is one thing they do not teach among the Crows, that is certain."

"Count yourself lucky you _do_ have one that knows how, my dear," Wynne said, turning away from the window. Alistair had lifted up Abigail from the ground, their lips still together, and I wished them continued happiness. "But I honestly think this does sound fun. We have nothing else to do, why not try it?"

"It's a lovely idea," I agreed.

"Eh, oh well, I'll join in," Oghren said. "Somebody give me that sodding piece of paper."

"All in good time," I said, smiling. I reluctantly turned away from the window and began to count everybody in the room. "Okay, we have odd numbers! There's nine people, including Bear, Alistair, and Abigail... unless... Shale, would you mind participating with us?"

"The red-haired human thinks it is funny," the golem sneered, if golems could. "What can possibly be of use to me?"

"I'm sure we'll find something," I assured her. "We know what you like, after all."

"Eh, it'll do." Then, as if she were remembering social graces long forgotten, she said, "Thank you, I suppose."

"Great!" I beamed. "Okay. Bear, can you go get us a piece of paper and a fountain pen, boy?"

Oh, the mabari was so smart that it was nearly impossible to discern its intelligence from a human's. Bear stood up, lightly nipping at Sten's hand in what I had began to take as a loving gesture (so cute!) and pawed at the door until Morrigan stood up to let him out.

"Ah, I should probably catch their attention," Wynne muttered, glancing out the window again. She exhaled slightly, curling her fingers around an invisible object, and a shadow of flame began to flicker next to the happy couple. Morrigan shifted slightly with the disturbance, sending an irritated look at the older woman, and Abigail glanced upwards almost immediately. Wynne beckoned for her to come in, smiling. "She's not even wearing a cloak... goodness gracious, and she berates _me_ for not wearing enough layers to cover my chill old bones!"

Oghren snorted to himself, and I could feel excitement bubbling underneath the surface. I was _happy_, and I found myself already plotting out what I would give to each individual member...

Abigail and Alistair arrived before Bear did, dripping wet in the snow and giggling to themselves. Alistair had an arm around her waist and she was leaning into his chest as if she were cold. They were both red-faced and smiling. _Oh, how cute! They look so happy together!_

Quickly, Zevran and I explained the rules: don't spend money, don't let anybody know who you have or what you are getting. I was pleased to find I'd timed it just right, because as we finished Bear walked in with a servant boy carrying the requested items. He was young and elvish, and ogled at Zevran, possibly elevating him to a hero status for fighting with the Gray Warden. Zevran puffed out his chest, amused, as the boy left, and Abigail kissed Alistair's cheek.

"Okay, here we go," the elven assassin said, writing our names down in his fine calligraphy. He ripped the names off of the paper and placed them in Sten's helm. "Okay, no looking! Abigail, if you would honor us by selecting the first name?" He bowed, overdoing the flattery as always.

But she smiled, and Alistair didn't look worried at all. _Ah... young love!_ "Of course, dear Zevran," she said playfully, bowing theoretically. She made a show of covering her eyes as she picked out the paper, then peeked at the name underneath the slip. Without so much as a flicker of her grin she stowed it in her pocket and winked at me. I smiled.

Alistair was next, since we were going in alphabetical order. His eyebrows raised pointedly as he read the name, and I couldn't help but giggle at his reaction. I took mine next, because we had already decided we would give Shale and Bear the last ones since they could pick themselves. I saw the name of the mark and rolled my eyes.

Next were Morrigan, Oghren, and Sten. Morrigan made a face I could only describe as depressed, Oghren chuckled, and Sten just nodded as if he were expecting it. Wynne took hers and rolled her eyes as I had a while ago, and Zevran's grin brightened considerably.

I gave a slip of paper to Shale without looking, and when she read the name she stalked out of the room entirely. I had to read Bear's name for him, and I whispered it in his ear. He licked my face.

"So that's it!" Zevran said cheerily. "Remember, we only have a day, people, so chop-chop! Um, not literally, Bear. Food is later."

Bear gave a gruff little bark and took off, possibly for a place to go think. I went by the window again to stare out at the snow, and I began to wonder...

**Abigail**

A gift for this person would have to be smart, somehow... I tapped my knees, thinking hard, and suddenly the inspiration came. Everybody in the group knew about this story, but perhaps if I showed the evidence it would convince them even more, perhaps remind them of home.

I got up abruptly and waved half-heartedly at the others as I took off for Eamon's study at a jog. He was there, as usual, staring off into space. He jerked out of it when I entered, and I saw how his brow automatically furrowed, assuming I had something important to discuss about the Landsmeet.

"Arl Eamon," I said, crossing my arms to bow, as was custom. "I was wondering if I may perhaps ask a favor." I smiled broadly.

"Ask away, dear lady, please," he said, gesturing me to continue. "Whatever is in my power."

"It's nothing big, I assure you," I told him. "I was wondering, however, if you could grant me access to the castle's Archives... or perhaps tell me if a certain document exists within these limits."

He nodded, and I told him the name of it. Surprisingly, he opened his mouth and laughed, scooting his chair back to reach for a locked drawer within his desk. "The First Enchanter asked me to pass this on, I nearly forgot..."

I hugged him, laughing. Dear old Irving!

**Alistair**

Did I _have_ to? _Really?_ I had to get the one person who probably hated my guts - literally, I tell you! - more than anybody else in this team. What was I thinking, going for the right? I should have gone left, like I wanted, but oh _no_ I just had to choose the right... Damn Templar training.

Well, what _could_ I get somebody such as... that? I've given as much as I could, you know, far more than I would normally have done for that insane, homicidal little... I pressed my knuckles to my head, massaging my temples, and I heard Morrigan laugh. "Don't strain yourself too hard, dear Alistair," she mocked.

"You know, I hear that being in a permanent bad mood ages you faster... it all sags from now on."

She laughed. "Just keep trying, Alistair, you may actually remember a good comeback one day."

"Har har."

She wasn't really helping at _all_. Abigail had already left, determined to find her gift, and I was stuck with nothing, _nothing! _What do you get somebody like them? What _can_ you get them?

Certainly not a 'friend', I thought idly. Nobody in their right minds would befriend that creature. _Nobody in their right minds. Right. Good job, Abby._

It came to him hours later, and it was a last resort plan. Well, at least it would be useful. Ugh.

**Bear**

The mabari war hound pressed its nose to the floor, following the scent of its mark with considerable ease. A few minutes had already passed and he knew he had to get back soon with something before nightfall. Being a dog, he couldn't barter with money the way a human could (he'd tried before, that didn't work out at all) and unless the human was particularly smart he couldn't communicate effectively well.

Bear knew what was important to this person, though, and he'd heard them complaining long ago about the inaccuracies of their latest purchase. He could remember the smell of the object well enough, for his nose was the best in Castle Redcliffe, but tracking it among the different, confusing scents of the humans, elves, and dwarves all milling around was a hard feat even for him.

He padded into the courtyard, stretching his large, bone-crushing jaws in a yawn. The snow felt different underneath his padded paws, so cold and compacted, and he pranced on it for a while as to enjoy the crunching effect it hand when his feet touched the surface. He relieved himself on a nearby armor stand, turning the snow an impressive shade of yellow, and sniffed around the weapon racks for his gift.

No, not yet. He concentrated on the scent of the last one out there and attempted to follow it back into the castle. He was abruptly hit with the wall of smells again and he growled at himself for losing it.

He inhaled deeply, tasting the air, and found it again on his fifth attempt. It was faint, but it was there. He followed it down a hallway and nearly ran into a young elven servant carrying... carrying...

_Meat._

He barked, stopping her in her tracks, and began to bounce around with the exuberance of a young puppy. "Aww, you're hungry?" She had a high voice that scraped against his eardrums, but he didn't care. He wanted the _meat._ "I'm sorry, boy, this is for the arl. Perhaps the cooks in the kitchens will feed you something."

He whined, pawing at the air, and she laughed. "I enjoy my work too much I'm afraid," she said apologetically. "Sorry, doggy." She pushed past him, rubbing his head, and Bear whined. She didn't turn around.

He followed her anyway, sniffing at her feet, and took a right turn that branched off to the kitchens. The servants attempted to shoo him out, but the cook took pity on him and fed him a few pieces of leftover meat. They had a big job to do, feeding all the men stationed at the Castle, and Bear was thrown out after devouring leftover duck.

He had half a mind to go stretch out by the fire with Abigail upstairs, but he knew he had a job to do. He went back to the previous hallways and began to sniff for the present, but met no luck. The scents of food from the kitchen were drafting up leisurely from the corridors and he slid against one of the walls to make himself focus.

So he knew it was right here _somewhere_, but where? He kept his nose to the ground and followed a new scent this time, the scent of armored boots, and it was a jackpot. His nose hit a closed door that smelled subtly of his target, and he scratched at it until a passing guard let him in. "Good boy," he cooed, "being a big dog and all."

It was a place full to the brim of objects his master used all of the time–shiny plates and pointy-silver-sticks hung upon the wall, and it was almost puppy's play to follow the scent towards the pile of gifts on top of a shelf.

"What are you doing?" the guard asked, coming over. "Oh, no, you can't have that."

Bear began to edge it into his mouth. The guard stank of fear-smell now, and Bear knew he wouldn't dare put his fleshy hand within reach of his powerful jaws. He growled just once and ran for it, clutching his prize in his mouth.

He nudged open Abigail's door on the second story and crawled underneath the bed. He dropped the present in the darkest space he could find and struggled back out.

Pleased with a job well done, he followed his instincts and took off for the smell of roast chicken.

And so the day passed, with each companion scurrying about to find their own gift - sometimes through less than legal ways! Finally the day came and they reconvened within the guest bedroom to give their gifts.

Leliana sat on Sten's bed (for they were using his larger room as a meeting room) and rotated a bronzed lock around her finger, grinning with excitement. "And now we each say who we've gotten our presents for," she said, smiling. "We'll go down the line."

Abigail held up her piece of paper. "I drew Wynne," she said, earning a tilt of the head from the older woman. "And I retrieved my favorite tome ever from the Circle of Magi..." She reached within her cloak and brought out a yellowed, dirt-stained book about the size of her hand. "_A History of Grey Warden Magi._ I'm sure you heard all about that from Enchanter Bryce, ma'am."

Wynne took it in her hands, her eyes a little teary, and Leliana smiled so hard it hurt. "Thank you," she said in a constricted voice. "It's very kind of you." They both abandoned all pretense and hugged tightly. Abigail whispered something in her ear, and Wynne nodded. "I love you, too, child."

"That's so sweet," Leliana crooned.

"I'm going to vomit," Morrigan muttered.

Abigail and Wynne withdrew, with Wynne still looking at her gift with a teary smile on her face, and Leliana called Alistair foreword. He seemed to brace himself, then said, as cheerfully as possible, "I drew Shale... and I didn't know what to get you, really, so I thought of this: I'll help give you a bath before the march, get all that gunk off. You'll be the prettiest golem in the army."

"I'll be the _only_ golem in the army," Shale countered. "But you are considerate. Thank you."

"That's very nice of you," Leliana said. "Bear-boy, what've you got in your mouth?! It looks like..."

"A stone to sharpen my blade with," Sten said, kneeling down to retrieve the item. He looked the dog in the eyes and a hint of a smile crossed his lips. "You have done well to retrieve this. I thank you greatly."

"But how'd the evil little doggy get it, anyway?" Alistair murmured at Zevran, who shrugged. "Uh huh, that's what I thought."

"Good boy," Abigail told him, scratching Bear's ears.

"Next is... me, I suppose!" Leliana said, reaching into her shoulder-bag. She took out a small bag made of tanned leather, about the size of her palm. "These are the spices Abby gave me," she said slowly, "and I've decided to pass them on to _Oghren_, who can use these in his food and drink."

The dwarf took the bag and hefted it in his hand, frowning. "This, er... this come from the Circle?" he asked her.

"From our very best stores," Abigail assured him.

Oghren held up one finger and left the room. He returned only a few minutes later with a mug of beer in his hand and a piece of leftover chicken in the other. He placed them on Sten's bed (Sten growled, but said nothing) and sprinkled a bit of the darkened spices into both. Slowly and deliberately the dwarven warrior chewed, and as he chewed and drank a look of approval crossed over his face.

He drank the entire pitcher, as was his wont, and let out a howl. "That was the best sodding thing I've ever tasted! It's like you can't use too much or you'll overpower it, but sprinkle a small amount just right? _Ha!_ After the war I'm going to bloody _love_ with your Circle freaks. And Grey Warden, you're going to put in a good word for me, understand?"

Abigail, laughing, nodded. Oghren began to finish the rest of his chicken, moaning in delight. "The Sten is next!" she cried, pressing her hand on his shoulder.

"Leliana," he grunted, placing to beautifully carved hair clips on the bed in front of her. She gaped at them, open-mouthed, and had to stop herself from hugging him. "The drunk blacksmith's daughter promised to... make it up to me for rescuing her," he said, as if he didn't believe it. "I believe she was propositioning me, but she was happy to give these up. She also told me to come see her again some day."

Alistair's eyes widened comically. "Oh... _crap_. There's a girl who doesn't know what she's getting into."

"These are _beautiful_, Sten!" Leliana cried. "Oh, I love their color. So silver, it reminds me of the moon..."

He ducked his head as if embarrassed. "You're welcome."

Alistair cleared his throat, taking over for her. "Shale? Your turn."

Shale shrugged her large shoulders and passed a bone to Bear. The mabari caught it and began to gnaw on it.

"Good job," Alistair congratulated.

"I believe it's my turn," Wynne said, unclipping her silver necklace. She handed it to Alistair. "It was my mother's," she warned, "and if you lose it we might just lose you."

"Aw, it's so _shiny!_" Alistair said, examining it. "Wow, I'm liking it already. Thanks a lot."

"It is no problem," she told him serenely.

"And I suppose 'tis my turn, now," Morrigan said, as if she wearied of the entire business. She passed Zevran a golden, jewel-encrusted mirror, the exact same one Abigail had given to her months ago. "This is for saving me that _one_ time. We're even now."

"And I get _this?" _Zevran asked. "I shall save you more often, my dear! Lovely."

He smiled. "And last but not the least, our Grey Warden, whom without we could _never_ live!" He presented a leather-bound sketchbook of great quality. She took it, beaming, and hugged him tightly. "In hopes that she'll fill it before she dies, anyway! What, why are you looking at me? Didn't you see her, dancing without a jacket? Horrible." He shuddered.

"It's lovely, Zevran," she told him honestly, hugging him. "And I hope I _do_ get to fill it up before I die."

She coughed. When she spoke again, it was in a tone that commanded attention. "Things are about to start rolling," she told them, "and they will only get harder. I just wanted to say, right now while we're all here, while we're all still alive... _Thank you._ Thank you for your freedom, thank you for your lives, and thank you for the love and devotion you show each other in your own odd ways.

"Our path foreword won't be an easy one, but we _will_ prevail. We have to trust each other, though we do already. Our lives are in each other's hands, and to defeat the Archdemon we _must_ work together. I don't give a damn how the Landsmeet turns out, because you know what? Whatever the hell happens, when the darkspawn arch across their crops they'll drop their petty differences and start fighting like good little boys and girls.

"I know I ask too much of you now. I'm asking you if you're willing to give your lives for this, and I know each and every one of you are. I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up and _you won't be there._ I'm afraid of each and every one of you dying because of me, because of this giant... fight for glory. You all have given such a generous sacrifice, and I can't repay it in a thousand lives. You are all my friends for life, and before we march I needed to say that. No matter what happens in the future, I love you all."

"And we love you," Alistair said sincerely, ripping her arm. Sten nodded formally, mouthing '_kadan.'_ "Trust us, we couldn't have gotten here without you."

"Oh, I bet you would have," she said quietly. "But when things are down during the last battle, when something horrible is about to happen... I hope you remember this day, when we danced in the snow and gave each other gifts from the heart. I hope you remember it and be happy."

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "It was just a sketchbook."


End file.
